Cross Roads

JIM-DOG

     He wasn't, well, a fancy kind o' dog—
     Not Jim!
     But, oh, I sorter couldn't seem ter help
     A-lovin' him.
     He always seemed ter understand.
     He'd rub his nose against my hand
     If I was feelin' blue or sad.
     Or if my thoughts was pretty bad;
     An' how he'd bark an' frisk an' play
     When I was gay!

     A soldier's dog don't have much time ter whine
     Like little pets a-howlin' at th' moon.
     A soldier's dog is bound ter learn, right soon,
     That war is war, an' what a steady line
     Of men in khaki means.
                             (What, dogs don't know?
     You bet they do!  Jim-dog, he had ter go
     Along th' trenches oftentimes at night;
     He seemed ter sense it when there was a fight
     A-brewin'.  Oh, I guess he knew, all right!)
     I was a soldier, an' Jim-dog was MINE.

     Ah, what's the use?
     There never was another dog like him.
     Why, on th' march I'd pause an' call—"Hey, Jim!"
     An' he'd be there, his head tipped on one side,
     A-lookin' up at me with love an' pride,
     His tail a-waggin', an' his ears raised high....

     I wonder why my Jim-dog had ter die?
     He was a friend ter folks; he didn't bite;
     He never snapped at no one in th' night;
     He didn't hate a soul; an' he was GAME!
     An' yet... a spark o' light, a dartin' flame
     Across th' dark, a sneaky bit o' lead,
     An' he was... dead!

     They say there ain't no heaven-land for him,
     'Cause dogs is dogs, an' haven't any right;
     But let me tell yer this; without my Jim
     Th' very shinin' streets would seem less bright!
     An' somehow I'm a-thinkin' that if he
     Could come at that last stirrin' bugle call
     Up to th' gates o' gold aside of me,
     Where God stands smilin' welcome to us all,
     An' I said, "Father, here's my dog... here's
        Jim,"
     They'd find some corner, touched with love, fer him!